I Dreamt You Were a Mockingjay
by LittleReporterGirl
Summary: What happened to Cinna after the second book. Spoilers for the second and third book, so I wouldn't read if you hadn't read them all. Rated M for some possible later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This fic tells the story of what happens to Cinna after Katniss sees him taken away. There will probably be some spoilers for Mockingjay, so don't read if you haven't read all the books. It is definitely pretty realistic since there is never any _proof _of what happens to Cinna, really. Hope you fellow Cinna-lovers enjoy and please let me know what you think.

Cinna lay on his right side on the small, hard bed. He was in a jail cell, 6 by 6 foot, with nothing but the hard bed and a small toilet. Twice a day they would bring him a little bread and some water. Just enough to keep him alive.

He had lost a lot of weight over the months he had been there and his skin clung to his skeletal frame. For the first few weeks his stomach had growled constantly, but after a few months it took on a deadly silence. Cinna himself had not spoken in a long time. He had been in prison in the Capitol where he was beaten violently. He had several broken ribs that mended poorly and pained when he breathed in deeply. He had been tortured for information- he had been whipped, electrically shocked, deprived of food and sleep- but he never gave in. He never spoke a word to President Snow or his goons. He was only in Snow's prison a week and a half when, late one night, a man came to his cell with the key.

"Cinna," the man whispered urgently. "Wake up."

He sat up painfully. His clothes were tattered and soaked in blood. It hurt to move. There wasn't a place on his body that had not been somehow injured. Cinna squinted through his pain to see who it was.

It took him a moment to place the insistent face. His name was Gaston. Cinna had met him at a party during Katniss' first Hunger Games. He had complimented Cinna's design work, they talked for a while, and ended up spending the night together. He hadn't seen him since that night.

His head swam and his vision threatened to blacken as he stood up. He felt the wounds on his back and chest, which had only just clotted, begin to pour blood again. He grit his teeth and limped over to the bars. He leaned against them, barely able to stand on his own.

"We've got to get you out of here," Gaston whispered. "President Snow has ordered your execution."

Gaston unlocked the door and shackled Cinna, which was unnecessary. He couldn't fight or flee even if he wanted to…even if he had the strength to, he would be overcome before he could escape. Gaston checked the hall to make sure it was clear, then led Cinna out.

"So you're going to kill me?" Cinna asked, somehow managing to keep his voice strong.

"Don't be silly," he replied.

"You're going to let me go?" he whispered, feeling a faint hope.

"Not exactly… I can't let you go, but I'm having you transferred to a smaller prison, under a different name. Several prisoners are being transferred there to make room here for captured rebels. You'll get lost in the crowd. I don't think anyone will recognize you with your face so swollen."

He touched Cinna's face gently and Cinna flinched.

Cinna wanted to tell him no, to let him go to his death. He wanted to be brave, like Katniss…but he hurt so terribly…

"Here," Gaston said, pulling him into a small bathroom and shutting the door. He turned the lock and pulled a pair of scissors out of a pocket inside of his coat.

"Turn around," Gaston said and Cinna obeyed. He realized what was going to happen and bit his lip as the scissors snipped off his ponytail. He watched helplessly as Gaston flushed it down the toilet, then messed his hair up.

"Sorry," Gaston said with a regretful sigh. "I really did love your hair. Now, just one more thing…"

He wet his hands under the sink and proceeded to rub away Cinna's golden eyeliner. He stepped back to take a look at him and Cinna looked in the mirror, trying to see himself from a stranger's point of view. It wasn't hard- he barely recognized himself. He was covered in blood. His usually fantastic clothes were gone, replaced by the orange jumpsuit all prisoners wore. His jumpsuit was tattered and soaked in blood. His face was swollen on one side from a sharp blow and he had a cut over one eye that had started bleeding again when Gaston wiped away his eyeliner.

"What about Snow?" Cinna asked quietly.

"It wasn't supposed to be a public execution anyway," Gaston said with a shrug. "I'll just tell him I threw your body in the Incinerator."

"You work for him?"

"Isn't that obvious?" Gaston said with an eye roll. "I just…couldn't stand to see you killed."

Gaston kissed him quickly, which surprised Cinna, then opened the door and pushed him out.

Cinna didn't speak anymore and Gaston led him upstairs to a room filled with other prisoners wearing shackles. They all looked mean as snakes- he recognized some of them as murderers and rapists that had been arrested in the Capitol over the years. He swallowed hard. When he looked back over his shoulder, Gaston was gone.

He joined the line of prisoners and was transported, via bus, to a much smaller facility without being noticed.

"What happened to you?" asked one of the guards, leading him to his new cell.

"Fight," Cinna said, trying to make his voice sound as gruff as possible.

"Looks like you got your ass kicked," the guard laughed coldly.

That had been months ago and had been the last time Cinna spoke out loud. He lost track of the days, the months spent lying on his side. His wounds had been left untreated, leaving ugly scars all over his once beautiful skin. His mind was more damaged. He did nothing but lie there, day after day, his eyes half-open but not seeing. He was trapped in his mind, in a sort of dreamlike state. He no longer smelt the stench of prisoners or heard the noises around him. He only moved when they slid the tray of food in twice a day and even then it was an autonomic function, eating the bread, drinking the water, then pushing the tray back out and returning to his bed.

While he lay there in his dream-like state, he saw images of Katniss. Katniss dressed in her coal suit from the first Hunger Games, on fire as she and Peeta rode through the crowd. Katniss in her fiery dress from the first interview…then in her wedding dress, spinning and spinning until she transformed into a Mockingjay, then flew away. He dreamed he watched Katniss as a Mockingjay, flying through an impossibly blue sky, high above the earth, above the clouds, where the sun grew hotter and hotter until her feathers caught fire. She plummeted towards the Earth, towards the ocean, and Cinna woke in a cold sweat just as she plunged into the water.

He dreamt about her a lot. He dreamt about her wearing the clothes he had designed for her for the rebellion, the ones in the sketchbook he had given to Plutarch. Of course he had no way of knowing if the sketchbook had made it to Katniss, if she had even escaped the arena. But he found himself dreaming she did.

Sometimes his dreams of Katniss were interspersed with dreams of the many men and women he had sex with. Most of them were like Gaston, just one night stands. Some he had been with many times, like Portia, Peeta's stylist. But it was never complicated. Everyone he had been with understood that he did not allow himself to get close to people. He had fallen in love when he was younger, with a man who was abusive both physically and emotionally. He ended up leaving him, but he hadn't allowed himself to feel love since then. When he started to feel something for someone, he shut down. Except with Katniss. He cared for the girl on fire. He had known from the first moment he saw her step up for her sister at the reaping that she was special. She had been hurt, too, but she was strong. Strong and brave. That is why he had requested District 12. Why he had turned her into the girl on fire.

Of course he hadn't known at first what he had started. He had just wanted her to make a lasting impression, to win sponsors, to win the Games…but when she had pulled out that handful of berries, he knew what it meant. And he was ready to help her move against the Capitol. He did everything he could to help her- spent hours talking to her on the phone after her victory, helped her design 'her' talent for the Victory Tour. When they announced the Quarter Quell and how it would be played, he immediately began sketching. He created the Mockingjay dress, even though he knew it would infuriate Snow. Katniss would be safe from him. Snow couldn't have her killed without all of the Capitol going into an uproar and Plutarch would keep her as safe as possible in the Games. Cinna had known the dress would probably result in his arrest, so he spent the weeks leading up to the Quarter Quell sketching furiously, the designs that Katniss would wear. Designs that would both inspire the rebels and keep her safe.

One night- or was it day? He could never tell anymore- he was dreaming of making love to one of a number of Capitol girls when he realized he knew this body. He knew the curve of the hips, the skin, the breasts… He looked up and met her grey eyes as she brushed his lips with hers. Katniss…

He awoke feeling confused and disoriented. He sat up and looked around for the first time in months. He exhaled slowly and leaned back against the wall. He could hear the noise of a crowd somewhere in the distance. He wondered vaguely what was going on, but eventually he lay back down and returned to his state of semi-consciousness.

Cinna did not know that the noise he heard were the people of the Capitol evacuating their homes. He didn't know that Katniss Everdeen was in the city, several blocks away from him, hunkered down in a shop run by Cinna's old friend Tigris. He didn't notice when the guards stopped bringing food and water.

He dreamed of Katniss on and off. The dream came again that she was a real Mockingjay. She was flying over the Capitol, towards the President's mansion. The streets below were chaos and confusion. People shooting indiscriminately, man, woman and child. Suddenly, a fireball comes out of nowhere and ignites her tail feathers. He can feel the flames as she is consumed. Her feathers fall away, leaving her naked and human. She is still on fire, her skin melting away, her beautiful hair…everything burning, so real he can smell it.

The next time he came to he realized how weak he felt. His throat was dry and his head was pounding. He thinks he can still smell the smoke from his dream, but thinks he must be imagining it. Suddenly, there are shouts and all the prisoners are yelling. He tries to stand, but he is so weak his feet give out and he hit's the cold stone floor on his left side, the side where the broken ribs mended badly. This sends shooting pains through him and he uses the last of his strength to roll onto his other side. He is now facing the door of the cell. He puts his hands over his ears, thinking maybe if he can block out the sound, he can fall back asleep and maybe this time he won't wake up, finally…

He is fading out when the door opens and he sees people in gray uniforms coming for him. He doesn't recognize them or the uniforms. He tries to speak, but finds he can't. He can't move. He thinks he must be dead or at least they must think he is. _That's fine_, he thinks to himself_. Just fine_… He feels himself being lifted, then he is gone.


	2. Chapter 2

When he awakes, the first thing he sees is a dazzling white light. _This must be heaven_, he thinks. Then he hears voices, the beeping of machines, and he knows he is in a hospital. It's definitely a Capitol hospital, but the voices he hears aren't Capitol accents. One voice in particular pulls at him until he can place it- Katniss' mother. This can only mean one thing…

He tries to sit up but the pain stops him. He looks down and realizes his ribs are bound. He also has a tube going into his arm, probably filled with morphling.

"He's awake," says one of the nurses and Katniss' mother hurries over.

"You should take it easy," she says, gently pushing him back down. "You had to have surgery to fix your broken ribs. They'll hurt for a while, but you're going to be fine."

He could hear the raw emotion in her voice and see the grief in her eyes. He felt the world closing in around him and took a sharp breath, which hurt.

"Katniss?" he asked, unable to keep the fear from his voice. It came out gravelly and choked from not speaking for so long.

"She's fine," she said quickly and relief swept over him, better than any morphling. "Well, not fine, but alive. She was burned pretty badly and…"

He saw tears well up in her eyes and she turned away. He reached out and took her hand. She looked back at him and he asked the question silently.

"Prim," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The relieved feeling is instantly gone and Cinna squeezes her hand.

"I'm so sorry," he says gently, feeling tears in his own eyes. She squeezes his hand back, then lets go.

"I've got to go…other patients to take care of," she said, sniffing away her tears. "I'll arrange for them to remove your IV so you can take a shower."

"Thank you," he said softly and she walked away.

One of the nurses from District 13 came a while later and unhooked his IV. By then he was itching to be clean and to know what had happened in the war. But for now, knowing Katniss was alive was enough.

"You should eat," said the nurse. "We've been giving you liquid food through your IV but you should eat something. It will help you build your strength back up."

"I don't think I can go another moment without being clean," he said with a rueful smile. "I haven't bathed in months."

"Alright, if you think you have the strength for it…but right after you're done, you're going to eat something," she insisted. He nodded his agreement.

The nurse helped him to the bathroom, then went off to find him some clothes.

"If you need anything, press that button," she said before leaving, indicating a red HELP button right outside the shower. He shut and locked the door behind her.

It had been almost a year since he had taken a Capitol shower, but he still remembered how to set it to the best temperature and with his favorite soaps. He spent almost an hour standing under the warm spray, scrubbing every inch of his body. It seemed lik everywhere he looked he found new scars. His chest had been mangled by the whips when he was first arrested and he knew his back was probably worse. He had a scar over one eye. Round burn marks on his arms. A jagged gash on his right thigh that he had no memory of receiving.

Once he was clean, he stepped out of the shower and studied himself in the mirror. He seemed impossibly thin. His skin clung to him unflatteringly. His hair had almost grown back to its full length since Gaston cut it. He wanted something to tie it back with. He wanted his gold eyeliner. But that would have to wait.

The nurse came back in with a clean hospital gown and fresh bandages for his ribs. He let her change his bandages, then reluctantly put on the hospital gown.

"I want my clothes," he said.

"You need to stay in the hospital for at least a week. Gradually work your way back into things. Your strength has been badly depleted. You need medicine and rest," she insisted.

He was silent a moment, contemplating.

"I'll stay," he said. "But you have to let me go home and get my clothes."

"Parts of the city were destroyed in the war," she said gently. " 'Hone' may not be there anymore."

"Then I'll go to the store," he said dismissively. "But I'm not wearing this."

"…Eat first," the nurse said. "Then I will find someone to go with you."

Cinna followed her back to his hospital bed and sat down. He ate slowly, but found he could only eat about half of the stew he had been served before he felt full. When the nurse returned, she had a large man with her. He wore the same nurses uniform as her, but looked as if he could easily lift Cinna, should he pass out.

"This is Vert. He'll be going with you, to make sure nothing happens," the nurse said.

"Thank you," Cinna said with a faint smile.

Vert and his nurse- whose name, he found out, was Roux- insisted on getting a wheelchair and having Vert push him downstairs. Outside, Roux stood with him while Vert went to get his car.

"Isn't there anything you want to know? About the war?" the nurse asked. "Surely you have questions? All the others had a million questions as soon as they woke up. You just wanted to take a shower."

"I know it's over. I know the rebels won. I know Katniss Everdeen is alive… Nothing else really matters right now, except getting some sensible clothes."

"You're very strange," Roux said with a laugh.

"So I've been told," he replied with a faint smile.

When they got Cinna settled in the car, he gave Vert directions to his apartment- or at least, where his apartment used to be. He didn't know if it was still there. Vert didn't talk much but Cinna didn't mind. In fact he enjoyed his silent companion's company. He wasn't ready to be around anyone he knew just yet, not looking like this. And someone else might have been bombarding him with facts about the war. But Vert was quiet and Cinna appreciated it. Maybe he suspected talking would make Cinna's head hurt.

They drove through a lot of construction and clean up. Some roads were closed off. He wondered if bombs had been dropped on the city, but knew that he would know soon enough.

When they turned a corner and he could see his apartment building still intact, he let out a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure he would have had the energy to shop for new things and didn't want to go into his favorite stores in a hospital gown…though his friends might get a kick out of it.

Vert followed him closely, keeping an eye on him as the went up the stairs. They stopped outside his door and Cinna found the spare key hidden over the door and unlocked it.

He stepped inside and looked around. His stuff had been rifled through- drawers left open, papers strewn about, but his stuff was all there. Snow's men had probably searched his things for anything relating to the Mockingjay. Cinna was smarter than to leave stuff like that around.

"Wait here," Cinna instructed when Vert made to follow him into the bedroom. "Sit."

He pointed to the couch and Vert sat. Cinna went into his room alone. It was filled with clothes, sketchings, different types of cloth. It had all been neatly put away the last time he was here, Snow's men must have just dumped everything everywhere. He went into his closet, which was about half the size of his room. His clothes, which had all been on hangers, were all piled on the floor. Was that supposed to annoy him? It's not like they planned on him coming back. Cinna proceeded to dig through the pile of clothes.

He emerged fifteen minutes later, dressed in dark jeans- they had once been the skinniest pair of jeans he owned, now they barely fit his thin frame- a tight black shirt and black boots. He had his hair pulled back and his gold eyeliner applied. He felt fresh and revived. He was Cinna the stylist once again.

Vert stood when he entered the room and he actually smiled.

"I remember you now," he said, moving forward to take the bag of clothes Cinna had packed for his stay in the hospital. "I saw you on TV."

"You're from the Capitol?" Cinna asked, catching the accent. Vert nodded.

"Most of us that worked in the hospital are still there. Most of us tried not to take a side. Wounded are wounded," he replied with a shrug. "And the rebels are pretty tolerant of the Capitol citizens. It's the government officials who they have in prison. They have President Snow locked away somewhere, awaiting execution."

Cinna was burning with curiosity now. He wanted to find Katniss, talk to Plutarch, to know what had happened, who else had survived…but by the time he got back to the hospital, he was exhausted. Roux just looked at him and shook her head with a faint smile.

"Designers," she said with an eye roll and Vert chuckled. Cinna smiled weakly as well. He allowed himself to be put back in the hospital bed, thinking he could get a few hours of sleep, then be well-rested when he met with the others. Roux made him eat another half-serving of soup and take a morphling tablet before he drifted off into sleep.

Plutarch was sitting by his bedside the next time he woke up. Cinna sat up carefully, remembering his ribs.

"I can't believe you're really here," Plutarch said in awe. "We were sure you were dead. Everyone said you had been executed."

"Chance of fate that I'm not," Cinna replied. "What happened?"

Plutarch proceeded to tell him everything- what happened in the arena, how Katniss broke the force field and was lifted away by District 13. How Peeta was captured by the Capitol and turned into a Katniss-hating mutt but he was getting better now, they had rescued him. Katniss had agreed to be the Mockingjay. She had helped unite the Districts against the Capitol, then the rebels invaded the Capitol. Katniss had gone on a rogue misison to kill Snow, but didn't reach him.

"Snow was using all the children in the Capitol as a human shield," Plutarch said. "He had them in a force field blocking the entrance to his mansion…then he dropped bombs on them. Katniss' sister tried to go in and help them…then the bombs went off again. A lot of people were burned. Katniss was pretty bad, but she's getting better. Physically, anyway. Maybe seeing you will help her. Maybe she'll talk to you."

"She won't talk?" Cinna asked, hiding the wave of grief he felt hearing about Prim.

"The doctors think it's from emotional trauma…they say the best thing is to leave her alone… but I think she'd like to see you."

Cinna nodded. They had been talking for a couple of hours. Roux had brought him more stew and he was able to eat a little more this time, along with some bread. He felt strong enough to leave.

"Where is she?" he asked, getting up out of bed.

"She and her mother have a room at the President's mansion. I'll go with you, I doubt they'll let you in if I'm not there."

"Okay."

"You're not going anywhere," said Roux, coming into the room. "You said you'd stay in the hospital, Cinna."

"I said I would take it easy. And I will. I'm just going to talk to someone, talking isn't strenuous. I'll come back here when I'm finished."

"Fine," she said with a sigh. "But take these with you… and make sure the Mockingjay is taking her medicine."

Roux gave him two morphling tablets. Cinna tucked them into his pocket and promised he would be back later.


	3. Chapter 3

Cinna stood on the steps, looking up at the President's mansion while Plutarch had a word with the guards. He could see where the street, the steps and the mansion itself had been scorched by fire. He thought how Prim must have died here, right here, and now Katniss had to pass that spot every time she went out. He felt sick to his stomach thinking about it. He wondered how they expected her to live there.

"Come on," Plutarch said, waving him up the steps.

He followed Plutarch to what was supposed to be Katniss' room. They knocked but there was no answer. Plutarch opened the door and they went in, only to find Katniss wasn't there. A door opens across the hall.

"She isn't there. She has taken to wandering off, but she's somewhere in the house. She curls up in small spaces and goes to sleep. If you want to see her, you have to find her your-"

Haymitch falls short when he sees Cinna standing there.

"Thought you were dead," Haymitch said with a grunt.

"I thought I was, too," he replied. "How is she?"

"Mentally unstable…but if you ask me, she always has been. …Maybe she'll talk to you."

"I'm going to look for her," he said and took off, leaving Plutarch and Haymitch standing there.

He opened every door he found and called her name softly. He found her a half-hour later, in a room wall-to-wall full of old furniture. She was curled up on an overstuffed couch, asleep. He shut the door behind him and walked over to her. From what he could see, she had skin grafts and burns on her face and arms. Her hair had been cut at odd lengths and he could see where parts were singed off completely. The stylist in him began thinking of ways to fix her hair, to increase the healing of the skin grafts…but he thought she looked beautiful anyway. He wanted to touch her but didn't want to startle her awake. Instead he sat down in an armchair beside the couch.

"Katniss," he said gently. Immediately, her grey eyes opened and found him. She looked confused. Her mouth formed his name, but no sound came out. She cleared her throat.

"I must have taken too many morphling tablets," she said, her voice creaky from disuse. Cinna smiled faintly.

"I'm not a hallucination…I escaped my execution and was transferred, under an assumed name, to a different prison."

"That would be nice," she said dully, rolling onto her back.

"You don't believe me?"

She shook her head and he stood up.

"If I were a hallucination, would I have scars?" he asked, lifting his shirt up to show her. She gasped softly and reached out to touch him.

"Cinna?" she whispered and he nodded. He let his shirt fall and she stood up. He wrapped her in his arms and she buried her face in his chest.

"I can't believe you're here," she said, her voice muffled against his shirt. He could feel her shaking and knew she was crying. Tears threatened his own eyes and he pressed a kiss on top of her head.

"I'm so proud of you," he whispered. "And I'm so sorry…"

She began to sob and he held her even tighter, even though it hurt his ribs. He shushes her gently and continued to kiss the top of her head. He eased her back onto the couch and sat beside her, still holding her tight, like if he let go she might fly away. After a while she stopped crying and lifted her head to look at him. Her eyes were red from crying and she looked exhausted.

"I dreamt you were a Mockingjay," he said, gently brushing her hair away from her face.

"I was."


End file.
